


Melt the Fire

by Amavirra



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Allura is a healer, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And it never will be, Autism is a large spectrum, Don't try and tell me Keith's thoughts and actions are innacurate, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I have Aspergers and am basing Keith's symptoms and attributes to my own, I'm not good at writing characters like Lance so I'm DEEPLY sorry if he's OOC, Keith has Aspergers, Keith wields fire, Lance wields ice/water, M/M, May have sexual content later on, May or may not add art every once in a while, May or may not be directly mentioned in the story though, Not Beta Read, Shiro is an amputee, Slow Burn, minor soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10040420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amavirra/pseuds/Amavirra
Summary: Lance's neighbour is hot . . . in more ways than one.Keith's neighbour is cool . . . ish.Quintessence is a strange thing, but it does get just a bit stranger.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I'm Em.  
> I'm Canadian so please don't get on my case about how I write certain words, please. Also, I have trouble focusing when I write, so there is a VERY high chance entire words will be missing from a sentence. I may or may not edit them if you point it out, but do remember I'm writing for fun. I'm very sensitive.
> 
> There will be no update schedule.  
> I hope you like it.

Late that night, or early morning, he stumbled into his apartment like a drunken sailor.  The keys knocked loudly against the door, as his hands slipped from the door knob, and his body plummeted to the floor.  His body landed in a heap, but there was nothing he could do, or wanted to do about it.  He welcomed the cold tile against his skin, but it wasn’t enough.

It never was.

He peeled his skin from the floor, using what little strength he had to turn himself over.  Head hung in every direction, for he couldn’t manage to hold it up himself, until his body had rolled and he was finally able to drop down on his back.  He didn’t even feel the crack of his head as it connected with the tile.  Every breath was a struggle, his chest lifted slowly, unable to take in air any faster than the wheeze of a dying man.  It was just too warm.  Fire snaked up through his lungs, burning as it went.

His body began to sear.  A horribly familiar and all too common sensation that always started from the chest and worked its way all over, until he was dying.  God, he was suffocating.  Every damn time.

The tiny case in his coat pocket called to him.

Rustle and shifting.

The case wasn’t there.

.

.

.

.

**To: Shiro**

**From: Keith**

Cant fin d pils.  Too hot

**4:27 AM**


	2. Chapter One

Lance was _this close_ to calling up the landlord.

God, he couldn’t stand it anymore.  It was barely autumn, and again, the guy that lived in the apartment just below his own had his heating system cranked to the max.  Now in full blown winter, this was a blessing, but heat rose, and Lance was tired of sweating his freaking balls off day after day.  He could feel it through the tile, and it seeped through his carpets like nothing, burning the hell out of his feet.  Not to mention trying to fall asleep was a nightmare, and the humidity was terrible on his skin and hair.  No amount of facial masks and moisturizer could save him from the _literal fire_ coming from below.

Sometimes, Lance would find himself down there, standing in front of the hell-apartment, hand ready and poised to beat that shit down and lay into this guy . . . but it never happened.  It was probably the fact that the whole floor was hotter than anything he’s ever experienced in his life, and his brains were probably swimming in a puddle of sweat up there in his head.

He still didn’t know what the fucker looked like.  Not that that would make a difference.  Lance would still be sprawled across his bed like a starfish in an attempt to keep cool.

All the power he had wasn’t enough.

His bed was where he currently resided, with the blankets thrown to the floor, and boxers _exposed_.  About four hours ago, his neighbour had turned up the heat again.  Now, based on the temperature it usually stayed at, Lance did _not_ know it could get even _hotter_ than _that_.  It was just ridiculous.  And second, wasn’t that a fire hazard, or something?

_What an ass_ , he thought to himself.

It took far too much effort to get into a sitting position, but he did it.  Now he just had to peel himself away from his sheets and find his phone.

Lance grimaced at the fact that he _actually_ had to peel the sheets off his thighs; imagine the smell.  He’d like to think he smelled like fluffy kittens and roses no matter what, but no, no he didn’t.  Mister inconsiderate-neighbour made sure of that.  So, he dropped the sheets in a heap, making a mental note to wash them again, and toed the floor, y’know, in case it was hot enough to burn the skin right off his bones.  Was that an exaggeration?  Yes, but that wasn’t going to stop him from complaining.  When he realized it was tolerable, Lance was up and practically jogging to the living room in seconds, b-lining it for his phone that was on the coffee table.

He grabbed his phone so fast he almost dropped it.  The magical ‘Hunk-on-speed dial’ button was pushed, and he waited.

“ _. . . Hello?_ ” The wonderfully husky voice said on the other end.

“Hunk!  Pal!  Best friend and love of my life.” Lance smiled, ignoring the fact that he was bouncing from foot to foot.

A small chuckle, “ _What do you want, bud?_ ”

“We’re still on for tonight, yeah?”

“ _Um, yeah . . . uh, yeah.  Why?_ ” There was a bit of rustling.

“Listen, can I, like, show up early?”

“ _Well, yeah.  How early were ya thinking?_ ”

“Right now.”

There was a long (and he meant long) silence, and Lance could almost hear the sleepy cogs in Hunk’s brain slowly start themselves up to process his early morning request.  Then finally, “ _. . . I’m still in bed . . ._ ”

Lance sighed, “I know.  _I_ wouldn’t _be_ up if hot head – ”

“ _Ah_ ” Another chuckle, “ _Okay, well, just let yourself in when you get here._ ”

Lance bounced, “Leave the door unlocked.  Love you!”

He didn’t wait for an answer before hanging up; he knew Hunk loved him back.

So, now he had to get ready, with a cool shower.  Maybe not that cold . . . Okay, no matter how hot he was, he wasn’t delirious enough to actually have a cold shower.

A luke-warm shower is what he took.

Clothes on and keys in hand, Lance stalked the hallway, steps away from the elevator that would lead him to freedom.  God, did he want that freedom.  He craved the feeling of beautiful fresh air and cool breezes on his skin, tickling his hairs and bringing the tingling of goose bumps.

He just wanted to breathe.

On the note of breathing; the stuffy elevator Lance had to cram himself into was not helping.  He smacked the bottom floor button with vigor, and waited impatiently for the awful sliding door that was literally trying to kill him with its slowness.

He just _wanted to breathe_.

Ding!  The damn elevator stopped on the third floor.  The one under his floor.  Also known as the Actual Core of a Volcano.  Some woman took her sweet time getting in, wearing little to nothing, and seemingly unfazed by the wave of _heat_ that followed her into the tiny room.  She smelled like an ashtray, too.

_God, I just want to fucking breathe!_

Nobody else got on, thank every deity known in this universe.  The door opening was a blur.  The lobby was a blur.

He was outside!

“Holy – ” Lance gasped loudly.

Why did he put up with this?  He hated living here.  Nothing in this world was worth another second in his current apartment.  Well, maybe the rent.  He couldn’t afford more than A.C. of a V.

So, one last sneer over his shoulder towards the complex, and he started walking.

The earliest signs of winter, being autumn, were upon him when he got outside and it wasn’t terribly bright out.  It was cloudy and shadows were not being cast, and thus everything felt quite dull.  It wasn’t even cold out.  Yet, it was still a preferable temperature to his apartment. 

_Maybe it’ll rain, today._  Wouldn’t that be nice?

Eh, it didn’t really matter too much.  It was a simple fifteen-minute walk to Hunks place from his own complex, and then he was planning on mooching off and laying around all day.  Perfect plan, really.  But with this plan came no time to even be caring about rain, because he’d be indoors, anyway.

Lance walked those fifteen minutes thinking solely about his next step; right, then left, then right again, focusing only on getting to Hunks.

Initially, Lance almost walked past the house, but the pathway to the front caught his sight in his peripheries, and he stopped himself from going any further with a deprecating scoff.  He felt better once he saw the door and he was stepping up onto the porch.

As it should be, the door was open, and Lance let himself into the foyer, where he kicked off his sneakers like ragdolls, one of which thumped the wall loudly.  If the ‘thump’ hadn’t been sufficient in alerting Hunk of his arrival, Lance made sure to let out a screeching; “Honey, I’m HOME!”

Lance chuckled to himself, thinking _I am such a shitty friend.  Good thing they love me._ You know, he thought that, until he looked up from the foyer to the hallway just outside the kitchen.  There stood Hunk’s roommate, and one of Lance’s closest friends, hunched as she held a mug to her face while wearing lion slippers far too big for her feet and a t-shirt hanging off her shoulder.  Her hair was literally pointed in every direction, and her glasses were askew.  Misery was a good word to describe the sight.

“Morning, Pidge,” Lance smiled, “You look amazing on this fine morning –”

“This isn’t morning.” Pidge snarled as she lowered her (presumably) coffee.  “Anything before ten is still night.”

Arms crossed, Lance slowly jutted out a hip, “Oh, so when you have a class at eight it’s . . .”

“A night class, Lance,” She replied tersely, “Why did Hunk wake me so freaking early?  What is wrong with you?”

Lance chuckled again.  Pidge knew why he was here, or at least, why he was up earlier than he felt he should be.  Unless she’d suddenly gone blind an couldn’t see the bags under his eyes.  He gave it a second, and when Pidge remained silent, he waddled passed her and dropped like a dead fish into the love seat in the living room.  Pidge followed and sat beside him, flopping just as unceremoniously as he did.  “Why do you think, Pidge.”

Pidge hummed in annoyance, but understanding as well, before she downed the rest of her coffee in one gulp.  _Ew._

“So, why did _you_ have Hunk wake me?” she asked quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Lance replied questioningly, “I didn’t?”

“I’ll kill him.”

“ _Pidge_ ,” Lance sputtered, “You can’t just murder our son!” he exclaimed with a hand on his chest in mock horror.

“I want a divorce.”

“Oh, my god.”

Seconds later, pots and pans could be heard clattering in the kitchen, and seeing as both he and Pidge were together, the only explanation was that Hunk was awake.  So, Lance leapt over the back of the back of the couch and sped off past the threshold separating the hallway from the kitchen.  Hunk was facing the stove, putting a pan on a burner, when Lance slid right into his side, screaming all the while.

“ _OH, FU_ \- Lance, what are you- ?” Hunk choked as he grabbed for the oven door to keep himself from falling over.

Lance, totally ignoring Hunk, firmly placed his hands into Hunks plushy hips and began to push.  His feet slipped out from under him on the smooth tiles.  “It’s Pidge!  She’s plotting to kill you!  Run, my son!  Run!” he cried dramatically.

“Um?” Hunk hummed, then righted himself, completely undeterred by Lance’s continuous attempts to make him budge, “None of that made sense . . .?”

Pidge emerged just behind the two of them.  “Lance, get off him.  I want breakfast.”

The sudden appearance of his tiny friend almost literally made him shit himself, but he wasn’t done playing, and he turned around as quick as he could.  “There she is!” he pointed at her face.

“Why am I friends with you.” This was directed at Lance, but what she said next clearly was not, “Why did you wake me?”

Hunk blinked at her like a confused kitten, “I . . . thought you would want to be up?  Y’know, ‘cause Lance was coming?”

“I can only handle so much Lance in one day.” Pidge grumbled.

“Ouch”

“Yeah, I get that.” Hunk agreed quietly, turning away to fetch a mixing bowl, “Scrambled eggs?”

“ _HEY_ ” Lance squealed.

Hunk chuckled then tossed the mixing bowl he’d found on the counter, then immediately gathered Lance in a bone-crushing hug, swinging him left to right gently, “I’m joking! I love you, Lance!”

“Aw,” Lance pat Hunks arm tenderly, “At least someone around here loves me.”

Pidge said nothing before trudging away, calling out over her shoulder once she was out of sight that she was going to take a shower.

_Yeah, she loves me, too._

Pidge would never admit it.

After that, Hunk and Lance fell into a comfortable silence.  Well, a verbal silence, anyway.  Because the room was filled with the sounds of cooking; the whisking of the eggs, the butter melting in the pan, then the gentle sound of a spatula scraping the bottom of the pan.  Just your everyday breakfast noises, but when it was Hunk, you better believe the flavour would be explosive, in a good way!  Like tasting the nectar of the Gods and _Oh, my God, that is cheesy_.

“If I had had some forewarning, I could have made some croissants”

“. . .Wait, what?” _Croissants?_

But . . . Lance wanted croissants.

“Yup. It’s too bad,” Hunk giggled as he turned around with the pan and poured its contents onto two separate plates, before he handed one to Lance with a wink, “All you get is scrambled eggs.”

Lance gawked, and like a huge ‘This is what you get for waking me up so early’, Hunk took his portion of breakfast and sache’d to the living room.  Like the eggs, Lance scrambled after his best bud (and turning back to grab his forgotten plate of food).  He tripped in the hall, banging his shoulder on the edge of the living room archway, never taking his eyes off Hunk, who was _just_ getting to sitting down on the love seat.

Now, Lance did not go _crawling_ over to him.  He just, you know, wandered over with his head hung low.  He sat down and looked up into Hunks eyes with his own puppy-dog pout, “I thought you didn’t mind me coming over . . .”

Hunk swallowed some of his eggs, then turned his gaze away, “Yes, well, when you said ‘early’, I wasn’t expecting you to force me out of bed –”

Now, Lance tossed aside his eggs, not literally, but away from what he was about to do.  Then he threw his body right down onto Hunks legs. “Ugh! But it’s like Satan’s asshole in my house!”

“Don’t nestle into my lap!” Hunk squirmed.

Lance rolled around on Hunk’s legs, moaning and groaning like a child throwing a tantrum.  “But I’m up _set_!” he whined loudly, dragging out the last syllable for as long as he could manage.

“Well yeah, but you’re also a flamboyant dude and you’re an inch away from elbowing me in my schlong.” Hunk eyed him pointedly.

Lance pursed his lips.  The broken lamps and bruised arms of the past were all too aware of how far and how fast Lance could move when he had a story to tell, “. . . yeah, okay.”  He pushed away gently, until he was sitting up once more.

“Now, eat your breakfast that I slaved over,” Hunk smirked.

Lance smiled back, “Does it count as slaving when you love cooking?”

Hunk shrugged.  Lance chuckled into a mouthful of eggy goodness.

.

No one on this planet Earth could say they knew what it felt like to have their blood boil.  No one except Keith.

In the middle of the night, Keith had been prepared to die.  The blood flowing in his veins had bubbled, and his skin had glowed, illuminating his dark apartment in a light that was a testament to the curse he bore.  The sight of him during these times was definitely one to behold.  His skin glistened with copious amounts of sweat, smoke billowed from his mouth, and under his skin was akin to molten lava behind a thin sheet.  The picture of a dying man.

Yes, Keith was nowhere near what most would consider normal.

For as long as he could remember, Keith had been told that he was very in tune with something inside him called ‘Quintessence’.  Everyone had this substance in their corps, but less than one percent of the world’s population could wield it.  The quintessence was tied in directly with a person’s soul, thus dictating a very special ability granted to the host.  But, of course, Keith just had to get the short end of the stick.

Keith and his family had learned very early on that his Quintessence was . . . irregular.

Fire, for one’s ability, was - according to his doctors – usually frowned upon for it’s unpredictability.  So naturally, Keith had been given such an element.  But it wasn’t that that made him so different.

Apparently, his Quintessence was overbalanced in comparison to his body mass.  A fancy way of saying his soul was crushing him from the inside, because he had too much Quintessence.  The inequality caused him to ‘over-heat’, which unmonitored, could easily kill him.  These ‘over-heats’ happened very often, prompting his doctors to prescribe a medication that essentially cooled him down enough to survive.  Too bad it barely worked.  Keith could feel every drop of his blood get hotter and hotter by every passing second, and his lungs drying out and burning up inside his chest.  He watched in excruciating pain as his arms and extremities became his own personal lava-lamps.  He endured hours of what simply felt like cooking from the inside-out.

Keith wanted to die during his over-heats.

And all the medication did was keep him alive for it all.

Even so, Keith didn’t actually want to die.  So, when he couldn’t find his life-saving pills in the middle of the night, he sent out a message to his brother.

Almost seven hours later, Keith was laying shirtless on his couch, wet cloth on his head, while he tried to ride out the simmering feeling still happening under his skin.  The heat emanating from his body had long since turned the supposed-to-be cold cloth into a warm cloth.  The room was unbearable, but that wasn’t any different to any other day.  It was like a sauna, and he could barely keep his eyes open, no matter how hard he tried.  Sleep wasn’t an option, though.  He was too afraid of never waking up.

Last night was . . . the closest he’d ever come.

“Keith?”

Keith blinked sluggishly up at his brother’s voice.  His brother Shiro leaned over him, as he removed his cloth and placed a hand on his burning forehead.  He appreciated the difference in temperature and sighed before responding.  “Yeah?” he breathed.

“I’m going to get you an ice pack, but I wanted to know if you think you need another pill or not,” Shiro supplied quietly, while replacing the cloth with a fresh, cold one.

“. . .N-no, I think . . . I’ll be fine now.  But still bring that ice pack?”

“Sure, buddy.”

Keith sighed as Shiro walked away.  The thermostat caught his eye when Shiro disappeared into the kitchen, and he cursed the damn thing for being useless.  The air conditioning was a constant in his apartment, but it hardly made a difference, for obvious reasons.  In fact, Keith had mentally kicked himself when he saw the sweat painting his brother's features.

His thoughts were interrupted when Shiro came back and he placed an ice pack on Keith’s collarbone, and Keith had to attempt a ‘thank you’, but all that came out of his mouth was a breathy ‘thank’.

Shiro sighed loudly, “I really wish I could do more for you . . .”

Rolling his head to the side, Keith watched Shiro take a spot on the floor in front of the couch, facing him.  “These aren’t exactly normal circumstances.  I don’t blame you for not being able . . . to do more.  I couldn’t even . . . get off . . . the floor,” he wheezed.  _Spoke too much._

“Don’t talk,” Shiro demanded in that brotherly way only _older_ _brothers_ could.

_I don’t think I can even if I wanted to._

He felt so weak.  He hated it.  If there was anything in this world that could feel worse than the pain he went through so often, it would be feeling weak; being a liability.  When he was laying down the way he was right now, Keith could never expel the thoughts that plagued his mind.

And his brother always having to come to his rescue.  Wasn’t Shiro tired of dealing with him yet?  Wasn’t he tired of basically having to baby his adult brother?  He didn’t deserve it.

“Keith,” Shiro touched his shoulder, “I can hear your thoughts from here.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Shiro turned his head, “You’re not still blaming yourself, are you?”

“I’m sorry!” Keith’s voice cracked with exertion.

Shiro squeezed his shoulder, and Keith twitched, “Stop apologising.”

Did he forget to mention that Shiro only had one arm?

Yeah . . . Keith could never stop apologising.

So, Keith remained quiet and stared solemnly into Shiro’s eyes.  He was trying to say just that; he would always apologise.  He was sorry for what he’d done.  He was sorry for what he was.  He was sorry for being.

Keith had to look away first, because he didn’t want to see what was in those eyes anymore.  It hurt too much.

“Think you’ll be up to going tonight?” Shiro asked with a tiny lilt in his voice.  He gulped and winced at the feeling, then he met Shiro’s gaze for a second before averting his eyes and looking at the wall behind his head, instead.

“You really _want_ me to meet your friends?”

“Of course,” Shiro gave a lopsided smile.

“You’re absolutely-” _Inhale.  Exhale._ “Absolutely sure?”

“Yes!” he replied in exasperation, “Now, shut yer mouth, and concentrate on getting better.”

Oh, boy.  Because it was fun literally doing nothing for copious amounts of time.  He totally wanted to lay in his own despise, crushed by those thoughts that he wished would _go away_.  He _wanted_ to look at his brother and feel the disappointment and see the look in his disapproving eyes.  NOT.  You’d think one would be used to doing things like this when it happens almost weekly.

“I’m tired of laying here . . . but I’m too tired to get up . . .”

“I can imagine,” Shiro chuckled bitterly.

_I’m too hot.  I’m sweating to the couch.  I’m in pain._   _And you hate me, don’t you?_ “I hate it.”

“. . . I know, bud.”

Keith closed his eyes for a moment, focusing solely on breathing.  Every breath he took helped with the pain in his chest, but that wasn’t the only reason he found himself taking deep breaths.  Shiro said he knew, and Keith hated that he did know.  The only reason his brother actually _knew_ was all because of him.  Keith wanted to sit there, and be that person who thinks ‘no, you don’t know’, but he couldn’t, because Shiro _fucking knew_.

_Please, do you hate me?_ Keith stared at the missing spot where Shiro’s right arm was supposed to be.

“Do you . . . want me to call Allura?”

_Tell me you don’t hate me._ “No, it’s fine.” Breathe in.  Out.  “I should be fine for tonight.”

“You know she wouldn’t mind.” Shiro sniffed.

Keith blinked, then to prove he didn’t need Shiro’s girlfriend – and Keith’s doctor, coincidentally – he pushed himself up, dragging his back along the arm rest of his couch, letting the ice pack fall to floor, pretended he didn’t see Shiro follow the damn thing with his frowning eyes, and sat up fully while turning his legs to touch the floor with his feet.

The carpet was still warm.

“I’m good.  Pop some pain killers and take a cold shower, I’ll be fine . . .”

Shiro, again to Keith’s dismay, gave a very clear ‘I don’t believe you’ look, before getting up and taking the ice pack with a sigh.  “I’m going to put this back in the freezer to top it off.”

He nodded, silently begging Shiro to leave the room faster.  The very second Keith could no longer see his burly brother, he doubled over and tried not to faint as his head swam.

.

_I don’t remember being this bad at Mario Kart._

The television was a good reminder, though.  Lance pounded the buttons and triggers when he could – which wasn’t often – with so much unnecessary force.  If he had to watch his Kart fall off the course _one more time_ , well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but there was going to be collateral damage, he could tell you that.  Nobody was safe.

Hunk, the butt-face, tossed another shell at him, not even batting an eye, “I don’t understand why you didn’t just cool down your apartment.”

Lance grunted and righted himself in the video game before he allowed himself to speak, “I tried, but the A.C. does fucking nothing-”

“No, I meant, using your . . . you know,” Hunk said sheepishly.

“Please.  Lance couldn’t make ice cubes if his life depended on it.”

Pause.  The game had been paused _so hard_.  Hunk huffed, but he would just have to deal, because Lance had been insulted.  His abilities were called into question.  His pride had been tarnished.  _How dare she?!_

But he was going to remain calm.  Pidge was not to have the satisfaction on this day, especially with Shiro coming over later; he wasn’t going to give her fuel.  Oh, yes, Lance would use snark.  So, tongue in cheek, Lance spoke in the most monotone voice he could muster, “Thank you, Pidge.  I’m really feeling the love, here.  The confidence you have for me is immeasurable.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Nope.  Couldn’t do it. “Make me, Pigeon,” he smirked.

“DO. NOT.”

Lance smacked his chest, channelling the douchiest man alive and letting it take over his voice, “Come at me, bro!”

“I bite, _Lance_ -”

“Okay, come on guys.  Please don’t be fighting when Shiro gets here, because I don’t know about you, but I want to make a good impression on his brother,” Hunk reasoned with a pleading inflection, then he hesitated before tacking on quietly, “. . . and I don’t think my feelings can take another Shiro-scolding.”

Oh, a Shiro-scolding was a patented brand by Shiro, unconsciously.  It was the wonderful (not even close) feelings elicited when Shiro played the father figure, and the unnatural knack that he had to make you feel terrible.  His subconscious display of disappointment could cut through the toughest of barricades, akin to a boiling knife cutting through jelly.

Jab, Jab, _Jab_.

He and Pidge simultaneously stopped their bickering in favour of nodding in agreement.

Technically though, the fight wasn’t over . . . in Lance’s head.

There was a topic they, he and his friends, didn’t talk about often.  Part of a small percentage of humans, Lance had the ability to create and manipulate ice.  Though, he wasn’t very good at it.  Or, well, he always tried his best, but his body just couldn’t perform.  He would try and try, a cold twinge starting at his heart, crawled desperately – slowly – to the tips of his fingers, but then nothing.  His fingers paled, from his golden-brown skin to white as snow in seconds, and then it ended.  Every time, the most he could do, was build a tiny layer of frost; thin, barely cold, and melted at a hairs-breath of a touch.

The reminder was like a punch in the gut, performed by a brick wall, if that makes sense.  Lance hated being reminded of his abilities, or lack thereof.  And well, he knew Pidge didn’t mean it when she said those things about him.  He knew all of this was more like friendly banter between good friends.

But it still hurt.

_I don’t need to be reminded of how useless I am._

Forget it, Lance un-paused their game without warning Hunk, which he vocalised in sputters and fumbling with the controller, and Lance was going to pretend he was fine.  He was used to it, anyway, so no big deal.  I was always easier to just let everybody think he had no insecurities.  His friends knew the drill.  Number one, it’s easier to act like Lance didn’t have abilities the rest of the world didn’t.  Number two, if you make a joke about it, it’s probably not funny.  And finally, number three, drop the subject as soon as possible.

This was Lance dropping it.

And all went to back to normal.  Lance and Hunk continued playing for about another three hours.  His quality of gameplay did not get better, no.

The plan for the rest of the evening was, of course, to hang with Shiro and his brother.  That plan started at six in the evening, and it was currently five-thirty.  The video games were abandoned, so Hunk could walk around cleaning up a bit.  Lance and Pidge watched him waddle around dusting the same things over and over again, because there hadn’t been much mess to begin with.  He thought it was silly, but whatever.  If the new guy can’t handle a little mess, then he couldn’t hang with them.  Messy was their middles names.  All of them.   Okay, maybe not Shiro’s middle name, but the three of them?  Definitely.

“Hunk, come on.  Shiro doesn’t care about the mess . . . sorta,” Lance said, bending over the back of the couch and hanging his head upside-down.

“Yeah, but what if his brother minds?” Hunk called back while he left the room and came back with a wet cloth to smother the coffee table.

“Then fuck ‘im,” Lance shrugged.

“Lance.”

“You know, you guys really need to figure out when I’m joking and when I’m not,” he sniggered.

As if Hunk was either ignoring him or hadn’t heard what he said, Hunk gasped then said; “I could have baked something!”

“Oh no, how will he ever like us now? Everyone knows friendships are made through Hunk’s cooking!” Lance threw himself down, landing right in Pidge’s lap, and dramatically draped his arms over his eyes.

“ _Lance._ ”

“Hunk, it’s fine, buddy.”

Hunk looked to him, and Lance removed his arms from his face.  He raised his eyebrows, conveying his belief that things would be fine, and Hunk visibly melted with a deep exhale.  Hunk smiled, which made Lance smile and his chest feel lighter.  Hunk was a literal ray of sunshine, even when he was less than perfect.

Lance was happy he was friends with him.

“Besides, who wouldn’t like us?  I mean, come on.”

Pidge chuckled, jerking Lance into looking up at her.  Lance saw the strained smile she gave him before she looked up and away.  He realised something was up with her, and it wasn’t just because of that.  She didn’t shove him off when he landed in her lap earlier, or at least shriek at him to get off her.  It was like she was tolerating him for his behalf.

_I hope this isn’t about what she said earlier._

Then, the door bell rang, and everybody stopped.  Lance raised a brow questioningly while slowly working his way back to a sitting position, checking the clock on his way up, and taking note that it was only five-forty.  _Um, they’re twenty minutes early?_   Lance snuck a glance at Hunk, and was surprised to see him just standing there.

“You . . . gonna get the door, bud?” Lance asked gently.

“Oh, right.”

Just Pidge and him, now.  And he wanted to ask if she was okay, but they had to join Hunk to greet their friend and his bro.  So, he pushed off the couch, then brushed the back of his hand on Pidge’s shoulder, indicating that she should follow him.  But she didn’t.  Instead, she took her glasses off, cleaned them on her shirt, put them back on, then dropped her hands into her lap and began picking her nails.

“I didn’t mean what I said . . .” Pidge sighed, not looking him in the eye.

_There it is._   “I know you didn’t.”

Pidge bit her lip and scrunched up her brow in irritation, “Lance, don’t brush this off – ”

“I’m not, Pidge.” Lance plastered on a tiny smile and made sure to keep it there.  “Don’t even worry about it, bra,” he waved a hand in front of his face, trying to dismiss the fact that he totally was brushing away the problem.  _It’s my problem, not yours, so don’t waste your feelings._

“Did you just unironically use ‘Bra?’” she was smiling now.

“. . . No.” Lance blushed.

“Yeah, okay.” Pidge smirked, adjusted her glasses and proceeded to give Lance a side-hug, complete with squishing his waist and leaning her head on his chest momentarily.

“You ever going to let me run tests again?”

Lance guffawed, “Not a chance!”

“ _Damn._ ”

_Welp, time to meet the brotha._

.

A five-minute car ride, or the amount of time it was supposed to be, turned into a half an hour of driving in circles so Keith could mentally prepare himself to meet Shiro’s friends.

They were moments away from pulling up the tiny driveway in their car when Keith suddenly felt ill.  He saw the front door from his seat, and his heart seized.  The palms of his hands started to grow warm under his gloves, and he knew he wasn’t ready.  His voice cracked as he told Shiro to wait and go around the block.  Shiro said nothing and glanced sideways at him before cranking the wheel and making slow circles around the neighbourhood.  The relief had his hands shaking.

They were just about to pass the same bungalow with the sickening yellow painted front door for the sixth time when Shiro piped up, “They’re gonna like you.”

Keith tore a tiny shred from his leather gloves, then gave his brother the most aggressive side-eye he could muster, “I’m not worried about them liking me, Takashi.”

“Whoa, my first name?” Shiro’s attempt to lighten the mood with a joke only heightened Keith’s anxiety.  Shiro gave a sad smile when Keith did not respond, “I know that’s not what you’re really worried about, Keith.  Everything going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

Okay, so, he admitted that he really did want Shiro’s friends to like him; he didn’t have any friends.  But that was his main concern right now, because he had a more important concern.  His . . . fiery disposition, obviously, was the biggest issue. 

Keith was terrified, which made the heat inside bloom, which lead to more fear.  One thing he learned over the years was that his emotions directly affected his quintessence and the fire it emanated.  He felt the heat in his belly and it made him ill, and when they pulled away from the house, he was horribly aware of how hot it was in the car.  They had to roll down the windows.  And when those panes of glass slid past Keith’s vision, he started to panic.  This was supposed to be the calm before the storm, and he couldn’t even manage to stay cool enough to function.

_Fuck, I’ve already messed up and I haven’t even met them.  What if I go to shake their hands and I burn them?  What if I set the house on fire?_

_What if they realise I’m a freak and leave Shiro behind in the dust because of it?_

“Patience yields focus.”

Keith blinked, “What?”

“Nothing is going to happen.  We’re just meeting my friends - who will like you – and they won’t find out.  You know why?” Shiro paused, but Keith wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of pulling the big-brother-is-always-right-schtick with him, “Because we’re going to remain calm and focused.  You have control on this, because you are strong.”

“. . . Thanks, Taka-”

“Like me!”

Keith pursed his lips, and for the first time in that half an hour looked towards his brother properly.

“Like me.  I’m strong,” and Shiro took his hand off the wheel to flex like a rube, grinning with joking satisfaction.

Keith finally smiled, but then he remembered something very important.  Shiro, the man with one hand, whom needed a specially made Steering wheel knob in order to drive the damned four-wheel apparatus, had taken his hand off of it!  They were literally driving with no hands at that very moment!  _Down the road!_

Keith leapt forward and grabbed the knob, shrieking, “Christ, hand on the wheel!”

Shiro laughed, then thankfully took the wheel back from Keith, who was blushing when he realised the car hadn’t been going any more than five.  Regardless, Keith was still smiling, and he couldn’t help the loving chuckle that left his body.  “Geez, and _you’re_ supposed to be the responsible one,” he shook his head.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you drive that bike,” Shiro sniffed, and Keith could see him struggling to keep his rosy cheeks at bay, “And I got your mind off things, so I’ll take my few seconds of immaturity as a win.”

Keith sighed; yes, he did feel a bit better.  Slowly, he slid a glove over his hand until his hand was free to the outer air, and stared at his skin, basking in the fact that it looked regular.  No bubbling orbs of glowing lava beyond the skin, swimming like living creatures, taking _his_ life away from him.

Well, he wasn’t wrong about getting Keith’s mind off things, but that wasn’t going to last very long.

Because there was the house again, coming around the corner.

And the splotches started gradually returning, so Keith slipped the glove back on, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply.  _No, matter how hard I try, I can’t fucking control it._

The car jerked as it stopped, and Keith frowned.  He still wasn’t ready, but now he was too embarrassed to tell Shiro that.  The plague-like thoughts were coming back, immediately clouding his mind, and blurring his vision.  His wasn’t able to focus on anything, like he was in a trance.  He could feel the corners of his mouth dropping further and further, yet he could not make his mind force them back up.  His mind and body were never in synch.

“Stop thinking, and just relax,” Shiro said gently, “Let them do the thinking.”

And yes, Keith knew exactly why Shiro was saying this.  He couldn’t stop his brain from running wild, and when it did, his facial expression always became a deep frown.  It was his own resting-bitch-face, but as he’d been told all his life, more closely resembled an ‘emo’, apparently.  It didn’t always represent the emotions he felt in the moment, but how could he ever prove that?

He couldn’t control when he bit peoples heads off when they questioned him on it, either.

“Did my face give me away?” he mumbled.

“That, and the car is getting too hot again.”  Shiro unbuckled himself, and before slipping out of the car, he reached across his chest to pat Keith’s shoulder with his one arm, and said reassuringly, “I trust these guys.  You’ll be fine.”

_Aren’t you tired of me and my problems?_

Keith gulped, then hopped out of his seat, pretending his legs didn’t feel like Jello in a vacuum chamber.  What does that feel like?  He didn’t actually know, but he was starting to think it felt like that.  The sensation was definitely some sort of leftover weakness from earlier that day.  What was better; having it be a physical weakness from your non-conformity, or pretending it was nerves?  Keith didn’t really know anymore.

He was steps away from meeting three people, and he was afraid they’d be able to see the weakness in his legs.  There was a chance, so he’d need to figure it out soon.

Keith almost envied the confidence Shiro possessed – despite being completely aware that Shiro had no reason to fear – because these were his friends.  He tried for a second to hold his shoulders back in a confident manner, but then he forgot almost immediately when he stepped up on the porch, and his shoulders drooped back into place.

“Looks like we’re twenty minutes early,” Shiro chuckled as he looked down at the watch on his wrist.

“Should we wait, then?” Keith mumbled so quietly Shiro didn’t even hear him and proceeded to ring the door bell, while Keith silently stewed about possibly pissing off these ‘friends’ by showing up before the discussed time.

_No turning back now._


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT NOTES HERE AND AT THE END.  
> PLEASE READ THEM.
> 
> Reminder that this isn't Beta'd so I'm sorry for mistakes of any kind.
> 
> Hello.  
> Today's notes are just to help you guys out. I didn't want there to be huge gaps between chapters, but I've had a few breakdowns and generally bad weeks (due to the Aspergers, Anxiety, and Depression).
> 
> If you don't know what Aspergers is specifically, please look it up yourself and don't use this chapter as a way of learning what Aspergers is because it's not completely accurate (for the sake of the story- will be addressed as the story goes on).
> 
> Lance my seem cruel to Keith in this chapter, but it doesn't last long, I promise. This is a depiction based on the way things were for me during my high school years. I always felt like I had to defend myself, even for the measly things.

Keith flinched as the varnished door popped open and revealed a tall, thickset, dark skinned man of gentile features.  He blinked up at him, but realised he was focused on Shiro, and in one quick movement and a giant smile, this guy grabbed his brother and hoisted him into the air like he weighed less than a stick of butter, which had Keith reeling.  Shiro, to Keith’s silent horror, was smiling and laughing like he wasn’t in imminent danger of being dropped or crushed!  This was friendship?  Before arriving, he’d been afraid of what could go wrong, now he was just confused.

Then again, Shiro trusted these friends, and upon a second glance, this guy was actually being pretty gentle with his muscly arms encircling Shiro’s torso.

“Hey, man!” Stranger-man giggled as he set Shiro down.  Shiro brushed off his jacket, which was more like readjusting than brushing off.

“Hey,” Shiro smiled warmly, then put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, making him twitch, “Sorry we’re early.”

Stranger-man waved his hand dismissively, “Man, why do you apologise for things like that? Doesn’t even make sense.”

Keith sighed in relief, then immediately wanted to take it back when Shiro elbowed him, silently saying ‘see?’, prompting him to stick out his tongue in his brother’s face.  But again, he wished he could take _that_ back, because Stranger-man-without-a-name-still (thanks Shiro) had chuckled, and was now standing very still, eyes averted.  Geez, Keith was standing on a stranger’s porch, didn’t know his name, hadn’t spoken a word, and had definitely settled into the stereotype of Bratty-little-brother-to-the-guy-everyone-likes!  _Kill me.  Just fucking kill me._

And oh, boy, the warmth was coming back.  He could already feel his hands and feet tingling, and the inside of his mouth going dry.  His stomach started to hurt, in the bubbly, molten liquid from hell kind of way.  Oh, God, he’d already fucked up.  Shiro’s friend was going to notice!

But then, through some kind of miracle, it seemed like Stranger-man was totally over it already, and was moving aside to let the two of them in, and he prefixed this action with, “Well, get in here.  Pidge and Lance are in the living room.”

They stepped in, and one of the first things Keith noticed was that there were two figures behind Stranger-man – probably Pidge and Lance – and how very not-in-the-living-room they were.  The warmth in his belly only got worse.  He was going to meet all of them at the same time.   God, he’d really hoped to be eased into this.  If he breathed, he wasn’t sure smoke wouldn’t be the first thing to emerge from his trembling mouth.

“I’m Hunk, by the way.” And then there was a hand reaching for his.

Keith gulped and looked at the given hand like it was going to eat him.  He couldn’t shake that!  Keith knew the very moment their skin touched that he’d most likely burn Stranger-man -Hunk’s- hand.  Maybe if he hadn’t freaked out as badly as he had before arriving, his body would be at a tolerable temperature.  But that would only work if he knew how to shut his brain off!  And well, now he was staring at a hand that was held out less enthusiastically; as in much closer to Hunk’s body.

“Why is he frowning?” Hunk whispered to Shiro.

 _Frowning?  Who’s frowning?_   Oh, Keith was frowning.

The sides of his mouth were clearly pulled down, as well as the centre of his brow.  Shiro rubbed his back, coaxing Keith to calm down, but it really just made him feel worse.  Again, time and time again, Keith was driving people away with just one look on his face . . .

He really was a disappointment.

 _Patience yields focus.  I can stop_ being _like this!_   Keith tried his hardest to stop frowning, feeling the muscles in his cheeks ache, before stuttering, “S-sorry, I’m . . . not much of a hand shaker, uh,” Keith looked into Hunk’s eyes, “’Cause allergies.”

_Oh yeah, lying is so much better.  That’s great; keep digging that damned hole, Keith._

“Oh, okay,” Hunk beamed, and Keith wondered how he did that so easily, “That explains the gloves.”

“. . . Yeah,” he managed, “I’m Keith.”

“Hunk.  But I already told you that,” Hunk laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

_I guess . . . I’m not the only nervous one here._

At this point, Keith stole a peek at the other two friends, and was literally about to explode when he noticed the taller one _ogling_ at him.  Keith assumed this was Lance, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done something wrong.  Well, He had done something wrong; he didn’t shake Hunk’s hand.  He probably looked like an ass.  Now Lance was judging him silently.  He wanted to take his eyes off of Lance’s and honestly just go home, but he couldn’t do either.

In fact, right now, he was stuck on these two ocean blue eyes and how beautiful they were.  They were so piercing, and it was like looking into crystals, and he bet that if he got close enough to them, he’d be able to see the depths of outer space in them.  They just . . . looked like they could hold a billion stars, _and then some_.

The most telling thing, however, were the feelings in his belly.  The crippling heat and boiling sensations that could bring him to his knees, and had been threatening to do so since the very second he stepped foot in this house . . . were lessening.  His chest was pounding, and he’d dealt with that before, yes, but this was completely different.  In fact, he hadn’t felt this regulated in years.

He couldn’t help but relish in it.  He wanted these waves of comfort to rush through him and make him feel normal; to bring him peace.

 _Wait . . . now I’m staring_.  Keith, in his embarrassment, found himself squinting at Lance, and then frowning once more, before he could even stop himself.  The heat started to return.

“ – right, Keith?”

Keith jumped, and swirled onto his brother, desperately conveying with his eyes to repeat what he’d just said.  _Did he notice I was being weird?  Towards Lance?  His friend!_

“I was telling Hunk and Pidge that your _allergies_ are the reason the five of us haven’t gotten together earlier.” Shiro wasn’t too happy about the lie, clearly.  In all fairness, Keith thought is was better than having a mental breakdown for any longer than he already had (over a freaking handshake).  And he knew Shiro probably thought that too.

That’s when Keith finally noticed that the smallest person of the group had approached and was hanging around to hear about his (lies) life.  She was clearly the walking sass of the friends, if he stance was anything to go by . . . and the purse of her lips.  Although, after twenty years of life, he learned not to judge by looks.

So, he waited until she spoke.

“I’m Pidge.  My birth name is Katie.  If you want to keep your testicles, you won’t call me Katie.” Keith giggled, internally wondering if it was appropriate.  Pidge did smirk, though, so it was all good?

“ _Pidge_ ” That was Shiro.

He liked her already . . .

“Do you believe in aliens?” Pidge asked with the utmost seriousness in her tone.

“Yes,” was his immediate response.

Then he wondered if he’d made another mistake, because Pidge slowly crossed her arms, tongue in her cheek, and closed her eyes.  She rocked from foot to foot, then spoke very calmly.  “Lance, Hunk, I regret to inform you that I have found a new best friend and your services will no longer be needed.”

Everybody laughed (except Lance), but it still took Keith a few moments to realise that she was kidding, and he blew a breath of relieved understanding for Lance and Hunk’s sakes.  Not before a bit of panic, of course, where he was almost certain Pidge was going to legitimately drop her long-time friends for him, whom she met merely minutes ago.  He spent the duration of the collective laughter rationalising with himself until he finally understood, and he joined in the mirth uncertainly.

The laughter ebbed away naturally, helping emit some happy sighs, and Hunk even wiped away a tear.

But Lance hadn’t acknowledged any of what was happening around him.  No, he was too busy burning holes into Keith with his stare.

 _I was afraid I’d fuck something up before it even started._ But he wasn’t entirely surprised.  Shiro said his friends would like him, but Keith knew that was a long shot, and he wasn’t about to act as if hell had frozen over because one of his friends didn’t like him.

Regardless, he was a little sad.  They’d never be able to hang out together at the same time if one friend wanted him to implode on the spot.

So, Keith would enjoy this time while it lasted, and be prepared to never see these guys again.

“Lance, you gonna introduce yourself?” Shiro nodded at Keith while boring his dad-is-disapproving glare at Lance.  And well, Keith couldn’t let that happen.  Shiro was not going to lose a friend trying to get said friend to like his little brother.

“N-no, Takashi it’s fine,” Keith knocked the back of Shiro’s hand with his own, getting his attention.  Shiro twitched his hand away at the contact, and Keith grimaced when he realised his hand had been warmer than he thought it was and he had probably just burned his brother.

Nobody saw the angry hurt in Lance’s incredulous stare.

Then, the worst of the worst, the thing Keith was hoping would stay continents away tonight; an awkward silence ensued.

“SO,” Hunk started loudly, “I, uh, hope everybody is okay with take out pizza.  I got _distracted_ ,” he jabbed a thumb at Lance, “and UNfortunately did not get to make anything for us.”

“I’m not the reason-”

“Croissants, Lance.”

“Hunk, that’s totally fine.” Shiro said nicely, effectively dad-handling the situation and cutting off that conversation between Hunk and Lance.

Not much later, Hunk escorted everyone into the living room after ordering the pizza over the phone.  Pidge literally leapt at the chance to be the one to sit beside Keith on the love seat, and his heart leapt with her, honestly.  Whatever he thought this visit was going to be – sitting in the corner while everyone pretended he didn’t exist and he could avoid any chances at overheating – he didn’t think it would actually be a friendship making experience.

She talked about aliens with him for a good ten minutes straight, without knowing a single thing about him.  Like an old friend.

He was going to miss Pidge when he went home and pretended this night never happened.

.

Okay, so, Lance wasn’t sure what he was expecting Shiro’s brother to look like, but he was not expecting his bi little heart to react so strongly.  Now, Lance wasn’t going to pretend he wasn’t disappointed that Shiro’s brother wasn’t a ‘mini-me’ type of deal, or a fucking twin, but what had walked into that door was pretty nice, too.  When the brother walked in, Lance had to mentally slap himself, and he made an effort to stand back at first so he could give mister mystery an unabashed once over with his eyes.  This guy was very attractive, and seemed somewhat shy, which Lance thought was kind of cute.  He had some crazy enticing long black hair that Lance was itching to find out if it was as soft as it looked.

But as the visit went on, Lance had deduced that Mullet-Head was pretty much a jerk.  The guy goes and scowls (maybe not scowls) at him and makes a point of looking away from him.  There was a chance it had something to do with the shyness, but Lance’s experience with shyness was more along the lines of blushing cheeks and cute little giggles.  A complete brush off; yeah, he wasn’t expecting that.

In all fairness, maybe Lance shouldn’t have been making googly eyes so obviously at Keith, but Jesus, if he was so disgusted by Lance, the polite thing to do would have been to pretend he didn’t notice that he was being checked out.  _I mean, please, was he not checking me out in return, or am I totally blind?_   And when he thought about it . . . Keith had made very deliberate eye contact with him – and nobody get him started on those eyes.  Lance had had time to notice how _big_ his eyes were, dark grey and rimmed in a subtle – yet hard to miss – violet.

_Curse you and your pretty eyes.  You’re a jerk and I’m mad at you._

This wasn’t the only reason he was angry.

This guy refused to shake people’s hands.  Was he for real?  _Who the fuck does that?_   He thought he was better than them, didn’t he?  He looked like it, with that miserable look on his face, and the fingerless black leather gloves.  Oh, _and_ he didn’t want to be introduced to _Lance_ specifically.  _No, that’s fine.  Fuck you too_. Keith didn’t want to mingle with his brother’s friends?  Ha!  What an ass.

Needless to say, Lance did not believe that ‘allergy’ bullshit for one second.

But really, what pissed him off the most was that Pidge and Hunk didn’t seem to hate him?  Like, at all?  They couldn’t see all the signs that were so blatantly obvious to him?  Pidge was talking with him like she’d known him all her life, and Hunk was bonding so easily with Keith’s brazen demeanor.  _What the actual fuck?_

Well, Lance had never pegged himself as petty, but yup, he did not want to get to know this guy any better than the very little bit he currently did.

Also, was he . . . the only one who noticed it got hotter in the house after Shiro and Keith showed up?

There came a point where Lance was just slouching in the arm chair adjacent to the couch, wishing he was anywhere but there.

“We could, like, play Mario Kart while we get to know each other.  That could be fun, right?” Hunk suggested enthusiastically.

Lance shook his head fondly, despite everything, because he just loved Hunk so much.  Why did he think that was a good idea?  Mario Kart was the game that could make or break friendships.  It could make the quietest people explode with sound and personality, or turn them into demons.  And Hunk knew these things, but _Lance_ knew that Hunk actually thought Mario Kart was a feasible option.

Nobody was going to get to know anybody this way _._

“I’ve, uh, never played Mario Kart, though,” Mullet-head shrugged.

Lance smirked and sat up just a bit straighter, suddenly feeling like Mario Kart wasn’t such a bad idea anymore. “Oh?  Are you afraid you won’t be any good?  Don’t wanna look stupid?” he cooed condescendingly.  Lance ignored Pidge glaring at him over the rim of her glasses.

Mullet-head sputtered, “What? No, I-I just haven’t-”

“Now, see? That sounds like you _can’t-_ ”

“Show me how to play, then,” Keith cut him off, firmly crossing his arms, challenging Lance with his eyes.

.

“Oooh, ninth place?  Lance, have you lost your touch?” Pidge’s grating tone demeaned mercilessly in the form of a rhetorical question.

Lance grit his teeth and side-eyed Pidge, then glanced at Keith, whom sported a very irritating, calm grin.  He wanted smack it off when Keith leaned out to the coffee table and placed down his controller to grab a piece of pizza.

Lance tried to ignore the happy tune of the winner’s jingle, that usually brought pride, which now was not, “Well, okay, if Lakitu didn’t have his camera _up my ass_ , then _maybe_ I could have –”

The snort that rang out cut him off and begged him for his attention.  Lance turned fully toward the left, where Pidge and Keith were just taunting him on his failure.  He was not prepared to see Keith struggling not to choke on the slice of pizza he held in his mouth with one hand, and trying to catch falling crumbs under his chin with the other.  His face was scrunched up, and a very distinct breathy laugh was escaping through his nose, causing his cheeks to flare up in a very alluring pink.  It was disgusting . . . and at the same time, Lance was . . . enthralled by the sound.  Even better, was that Keith eventually straightened out and pulled the pizza away from his mouth, allowing a tiny inner chuckle to reverberate from the chest, like the rumbling of a contented lion.

 _No, stop.  I don’t like you!_  His warming face said otherwise.

“You good?” Pidge giggled as she patted Keith’s back, making sure he wasn’t still choking.

Keith swallowed once, then nodded slightly at Pidge before looking at Lance full in the face.  And Lance really did try not to stare at Keith’s moistened eyes, forming a beautiful glisten across the shinning grey orbs.

At that moment, Lance didn’t know what to do.  He was mortified on behalf of his feelings, and he just wanted them to _stop_.  “You cheated, didn’t you?”

Those words left his mouth, and he didn’t want to know if he meant them or not.  Though, when he watched Keith sit back, his brows coming together, and his head make the tiniest movements from left to right in confusion, he wished he hadn’t said anything.  Keith just looked so hurt, but at the same time ready to lay into him.  “I didn’t cheat?” he said.

“Okay, but you said you’ve never played before, so you’re lying or you cheated.”  _Shut up, mouth!_

Lance winced when Keith’s eyes widened and he shrieked, “I didn’t lie!”

“Lance,” Pidge snapped, “It doesn’t matter.  It’s just a game.”

No, okay, but now it did, as in; what was Keith’s deal?  Lance had never seen someone change gears so fast, and so violently in his life.  Most people wouldn’t have been so _offended_.  And was in getting hotter in here again?  _I’m losing my fucking mind._

Now, with heat on the brain, Lance didn’t think twice about the words that came out next, as if they were appropriate to the situation at hand; “Hot tempered much?”

They were not so appropriate.

In his own anger, Lance missed the way Keith’s breath hitched and how his nails clawed at the old and tattered couch fabric.

With a sigh that Lance made sure everybody heard, he stood up and began to make his way to the kitchen, needing to get away for a second or two and taking his chance now.  “I’m getting a drink, anybody want one?” he asked as he kept on going, making it clear he wasn’t actually going to bring any drinks back.  Lance barely registered the fact that he’d bumped his hip into Keith’s elbow – and not meaning to – until Pidge clicked her tongue and he looked at her briefly, keeping Keith in his peripheries.  “Oops,” is not what he meant to say, but regardless, that’s what came out.

When he got to the empty kitchen, the first thing Lance did was rake his fingers down his face and groan.  He dropped his hands heavily and they slapped his thighs.

One second turned into one minute; nobody followed him.

Good, because he really needed to think.

First on the list of subjects he didn’t want to think about; Keith.  Why was he so attractive?  _Okay, enough of that_.  But seriously, why did he have to be good looking?  Now, Lance was stuck in this horrid loop of hating every thing that Keith did, and then enjoying the things happening on that pretty face.  He initially thought Keith was a man of stone (until he opened his mouth), but then he saw the smile . . . and the laugh.  Lance had not heard such a pleasing laugh that could make the saddest of hearts jump for joy since the first time he heard Hunk laugh.  _And that was an experience._

Then, Keith’s emotions came into play, and Lance had no idea how to deal with that.  Lance had definitely upset Keith just minutes ago, but he couldn’t figure out why.  Somehow, _everyone_ else was in the loop except him.  What was he missing?  Was he the bad guy?

He couldn’t help but think everyone had turned against him.

. . . Or maybe he was just an idiot.

 _My only salvation is that Shiro wasn’t there to see me basically shit on his brother_ , Lance thought bitterly to the fridge after wrenching the door open, suddenly parched and desperate for a drink.  He grabbed the first thing his hand touched, that being a bottled sports drink.  Lance shrugged but decided to split the drink and return the bottle to the cold interior of the fridge after pouring half of it in a glass.  Somebody was going to want the rest of it, and Lance didn’t really want to drown his petty feelings in _blue-raspberry flavoured sugar-water_.

Lance sighed through the nose into the cup, and just before the sweet liquid touched his lips, a figure startled him out of the corner of his eye.  He made a tiny noise inside his mouth, almost spilling the contents of the cup when he tipped it forward at an incredible velocity.

Shiro was standing there with his arms crossed, but he didn’t look . . . cross.

He looked sad.

“Hey, Lance.”

“Fuck, Shiro,” Lance coughed, “You scared the shit outta me.”

“Did I? My apologies,” Shiro looked up at him, “I need to talk to you.”

 _Uh oh_ , “We are talking . . .?”

That is when Shiro gives him a terribly unimpressed stare, “About Keith, Lance.”

Lance leaned back, and when his bum touched the counter behind him, he looked down at his feet for a second.  He was going to get Shiro-scolded.  Lance could feel it in his belly.

Although, he wasn’t prepared for Shiro to sidle up beside and lean against the same piece of counter, bringing his tall stature down to one that didn’t really make Lance feel like he was going to be chastised.  He waited for something, but Shiro did nothing.  Lance just looked forward, for some reason not feeling like he was allowed to look at his friend.  Eventually though, his curiosity and confusion drove him to sneak a peek.  The gulp that happened in his throat was involuntary, and maybe Shiro running his hand down his scalp, effectively skewing his white bangs, had been involuntary too.  Shiro had gone from appearing sad to just broken.

Lance blinked a few times, and simply waited for Shiro to make the first move, even though, deep down, he was still dreading what he would say.

“I . . . know that I never talked about Keith much before,” Shiro said quietly, but firmly continued, “But Keith is not like you.  Or Pidge.  Or Hunk.”

Lance shivered, “I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” he said calmly, which did not make Lance feel very good.

Lance rubbed at his temple absentmindedly, still clutching his drink in his other hand, “How is he not the same as us?”

Shiro sighed, “See, I feel like I shouldn’t _have_ to tell you.”  Lance twitched at the way that statement made him feel, but he clearly needed to hear what Shiro had to say.  “I also know this isn’t going to work if I don’t inform you a little bit.

Keith is different in a way that isn’t necessarily bad, but it definitely hasn’t been very forgiving to him in the past.  He has a lot of trouble with social cues and, well, social constructs in general.  You really need to be,” Shiro rolled his hands like he was looking to have Lance make the connections himself, yet he continued, “You need to be very clear and precise when you talk or make jokes.”

“Why?” Lance asked timidly, feeling a little bit silly for interrupting.

“Keith _physically_ can’t tell when you are joking with him, or being sarcastic.  You need to make it painfully obvious that you are joking, because it hurts him otherwise . . .” Shiro trailed off, and Lance could tell this was hurting Shiro just as much as it was apparently hurting Keith.  “On the other side, Keith is very blunt, and he doesn’t understand when he needs to keep things to himself.  He doesn’t have a filter, but just know that he doesn’t mean to hurt you, either . . .”

“O-oh,” Lance stuttered, getting what was being said for the most part, “So, I really did upset him when I told him he was cheating . . .”

“Yes,” Shiro nodded, “You did”

“You saw?”

“No.  Pidge informed me of what happened.”  He was sad again, and Lance felt like the biggest piece of shit ever.

“I didn’t mean to upset him.”  No, sadly.  That wasn’t true.  In the moment, he was sure that’s what he had been aiming for; being upset and wanting Keith to feel it.  But, he hadn’t even thought for one moment that something so meaningless to most people, could be the most painful kick to Keith’s emotions, followed by a quick drag through the mud.  “Does this mean we should be tip-toeing around him from now on, or-?”

“God, no.  Just take a step back before you say anything to him, okay?  I know that’s going to be hard for _you-_ ”

“Hey!” Lance squawked, then proceeded to elbow Shiro hard in the side, knowing he could take it.  He tried not to grin as he did so.

Shiro laughed lightly, then smiled sadly again, “I’m teasing.  But you see?  You could tell.”

 _I do see_.   Remembering back to what he’d said to Pidge and Hunk earlier that day, he really couldn’t keep himself from mentally kicking himself in the ass.  Ironically, he’d told Pidge and Hunk to learn when he was joking, but they weren’t Keith.  He’d never even thought about how people could be different to the people he’d known all his life.  “. . . I really am the bad guy, huh?” Lance mumbled, “I fucked up.”

“No, you didn’t,” Shiro placed his hand on Lance’s shoulder, “Just uh, talk to him, and don’t forget to be clear, or at least try to be.”  Lance nodded bleakly, so Shiro squeezed his shoulder.  “Hey.  Don’t beat yourself up over it too much.  You didn’t know, and now you do.”

“Okay,” Lance bit his lip, “Anything else I should know.”

“I think that you should,” Shiro drawled out, giving off the sense that he didn’t know how to answer that, “ask him yourself.”

Lance hummed.

“I really appreciate that you’re going to make the effort.”

“Do I have a choice?  If he’s going to be part of the group, I have to at least _try_ not to hate him,” Lance rolled his eyes comically, earning another chuckle from Shiro.  _I can joke with everyone but Keith.  How am I going to do this?_

His throat felt dry then, and so he finally went to take a swig of the drink forgotten in his hand.  The rim of the glass touched his lip, he tipped it back, and closed his eyes briefly.  He kept tipping back, until he registered that the cup was almost horizontal with his face, yet he still hadn’t felt a drop.  His eyes flew open, half expecting that the liquid had been waiting for that exact moment to dump on his open eyes, as if it were sentient, but he was both relieved and not to find the blue drink still plastered to the bottom of the cup.

Lance gasped quietly and brought the cup down in front of his chest, clasping it with both hands and staring at the frozen sports drink below.  It looked pale like slush, but it was very much solid.  But, how? _Did I grab a frozen bottle?  No, that’s stupid, I got it from the fridge AND I poured it.  What is going on?!_

“Lance, you okay?”

“YES” he squeaked, “Uh, sorry.  Yeah I’m fine.” In an effort to hide the cup from Shiro, Lance gradually maneuvered his hands and fingers until they were covering as much surface area as possible, ensuring Shiro could not see the mess happening inside that cup.  Thankfully, Shiro wasn’t really paying attention to his hands, but the same couldn’t be said for the rest of his body, which was trembling from his head to his toes.

“Lance?”

“Hey, d-do you mind leaving me to think.  I, uh, wanna make sure I’m in my right mind to talk with your brother.”  _I really really REALLY need you to leave, though.  So, please just go!  I-I’m freaking out._

“Alright,” Shiro brow was knitted in probable concern, but he still left the room, giving Lance’s shoulder one last squeeze.

Lance held up his smiling façade, and when he could no longer see Shiro, he fell apart.  All the air in his body let in one big breathy, panicking whine, his shoulders falling slack and his knees going shaky.  He had to grab the counter to keep himself from falling to the ground.  Once more, he brought the glass to his face and glared at the contents that were _supposed_ to sloshing around!

 _It’s fucking frozen!  Why now!?_   On any other day, there was a chance Lance would be excited.  He’d finally accomplished what he had been struggling with his entire life.  The thing that all Quintessence wielders could do with their souls.  He’d done it! 

 _Except_ he didn’t _how,_ or _why._   ALSO in front of Shiro!  He almost outed himself to Shiro!  That was _terrifying!_

 _You -!  WHY!?_ Lance shook the glass vigorously, snarling when the liquid stayed in place, seeming like it hadn’t even had the decency to melt even a bit.

Groaning, Lance slid to the floor, leaving the cup behind up on the counter.  His legs stopped shaking, thanking Lance for giving them respite, but his hands hadn’t stopped.  He tucked them into his lap and leaned on top of them, trying to get them to stop.  Then he realised how cold they were.  The muscles in his arm shivered as he brought a hand to eye level.

His finger tips were frosted.

_What is happening?_

The cellphone in his pants pocket beckoned him in his mild panic.  Lance attempted to pull it out, but his fingers being in the condition they were, kept him from getting an adequate grip on the damned thing, and the phone fell into his lap at least twice.  Finally, he had it in a death grip in one hand, and he opened the messaging system.  The misspelled words and missing spaces in the message box taunted him when he struggled to feel the screen as he typed.

Eventually, he was able to send a message to Hunk.

**To: Hunkalicious**

**From: Lance**

Emergeencxy friendd meetingafter the bros leav

**9:39 P.M.**

After the message was successfully sent, Lance’s whole body sagged, and he took the time to just breathe then.

Many things were happening in his mind, none of which were helping him calm down in the slightest.  He’d made the decision to talk to his friends after Shiro and Keith left because they knew nothing about Quintessence, or that he could do things with that Quintessence.  But now he wasn’t so sure that had been a great idea.  He’d have to go back out there now and face the two of them, pretending his body wasn’t acting up, pretending he wasn’t a freak.  How was he going to do that?  He was cold, he was shivering, and his fingers were practically white against his warm toned skin; they were going to notice!

On top of _that_ , Lance nearly forgot about Keith.  He needed to fix things, most likely with his hands burrowed deep into his pockets.  What if Keith noticed?  Would Keith notice?  Keith was probably wishing Lance was dead right now, but come on, Lance knew he wasn’t going to be able to go out there and act like everything was normal.  _I’m not capable of that kind of acting! . . . Oh, god, my fingers are funny looking._

Joking away the problem was one of his coping mechanisms, and he couldn’t joke around Keith(*).

It took a horrible amount of time for Lance to calm down enough to even think about going back to be with his friends, but it had to happen sooner or later.  Standing up was a chore, considering he did not have much feeling in his fingers and had to call upon the strength he had in his legs to push him up.  However, he could use his elbows, and had to spend a second standing perfectly still when he smacked his humerus.  But then he was ready to go out there.

And the only plan he had come up with was to stick his hands in his pockets and wing it.

Lance groaned one last time.

The living room came into view as he waddled cautiously.  Shiro, Pidge, and Hunk were watching him, silent questions running through their eyes.  He could practically here the ‘are you okay’s and the ‘what took you so long’s.  But he couldn’t really answer their question at the moment, not when his head was filled with his own questions and fears, and Keith.

Keith, the last person Lance was able to see, sat silently on the love seat, frowning and curled in on himself and training his eyes on anything but Lance.  He tried to remind himself that he deserved the cold shoulder, here, and that he was here to warm it back up, but he couldn’t deny the way his chest hurt for a second.  _Fuck, Lance, first you think he’s hot, then you hate him, and now you’re sad he doesn’t like you?  Christ, man._   Subconsciously, Lance dug his hands much deeper into his pockets, nearly pulling his pants down his hips in the process.

Pidge had been sitting next to Keith the entire time, but she gave Lance a once over, and got up while rolling her eyes.  She trotted over to Hunk and grabbed his hand and pulled him away.  Lance appreciated the encouraging glance Hunk gave him moments before disappearing with Pidge.  When Lance turned back to Keith, it was hard to miss how the loss of Pidge affected them both.  He didn’t know, maybe he’d wanted Pidge to be a buffer, maybe coach him from the sidelines on what to say and when to shut up.  Maybe Keith wanted her there based on the way he began to tip his head further and further away.

 _Wait, Shiro could be the buff-_  Shiro had left the room.  He left the two of them together.

When Keith began to speak, though, it had him staggering.

“I get why you don’t like me . . . so, I’m sorry,” Keith dropped his head, letting it hang.

“I-I, um –”

“I’m not going to invade in your friends circle anymore,” he said, without a hint of accusation, “So you don’t have to say anything.”

“What?”

“I’ve, uh, done enough.”

“No, no, wait, uh.  I . . . don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

Lance swallowed at least twice before talking, “I wasn’t thinking when I said those things to you.  I wanted you to know that I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings –”

“You weren’t?”

Lance’s heart almost broke at the genuine tone in Keith’s confused voice, and the downcast vibe he got from those eyes that begged for someone to tell them they hadn’t done anything wrong, when he could tell, Keith felt like he’d done _everything_ wrong.  Keith was looking up at him through his lashes, looking shy once more, reminding him of what he looked like when they first laid eyes on each other in the foyer.  That first impression that shocked him to the core when revealed that it was not so.  Or it was, because this - in front of him – was just another piece of the Keith puzzle.

_I . . . kinda want to put that puzzle together._

“There’s no excuse for the way I acted, but . . . I’m going to make one anyway? ‘Cause that’s the type of guy I am?” he laughed nervously, shrugging tightly and hoping his self-deprecation would somehow makes things better.

Then he thought about that morning.  He recalled the mood his neighbour had so rudely put him in the very second he woke up, laying in a sulk in the centre of his too hot bed.  He _was_ miserable this morning, somehow to his advantage. _And I’m about to use the shittiest excuse in the book.  And I’m so giddy about it, it’s almost stupid._

 _. . . If only I could have some of that heat for my hands, right now._ Lance thought as he rubbed his fingers together rapidly in his pockets, trying and failing to warm them up again.

But back to Keith and his excuse.  Lance held back the smile that threatened to ruin his apology to Keith.  Sincerity was key.  “I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, so-”

“So, the left side.”

He pursed his lips quizzically, “The – what?”

“The wrong side would be the left, because the right . . . is the . . . right side” Keith cleared his throat and averted his eyes, blushing like mad.

Well that was not what he was expecting – neither was anything else on that day – and Lance was completely drawn in. “Was that a joke?” he asked through a crooked smile, leaning his head down to look Keith in the eyes.  When Keith looked away, Lance followed with his face, needing to memorise the pinkish glow on Keith’s pale features.  _I’m living for this_.  Lance scrunched his nose in content.

He wasn’t going to think about the pounding in his chest.

“I-it was supposed to be, or . . . uh, it wasn’t very funny.”

Lance didn’t even try to hide the bubble of laughter that left his mouth.  He wasn’t going to hide the fact that he was really enjoying the shy smile that he’d finally put on Keith’s face, either.

Ignoring the thumping in his chest wasn’t happening anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> (*) What was written in this sentence will be addressed either in the next chapter or the one after. It does sound like I forgot what Shiro said (in my own story) but trust me.
> 
> Shiro's decribing of Keith is vague - will be addressed as the story goes on.
> 
> It may seem like I glossed over the Aspergers thing and that Lance went from not understanding to complete understanding in a matter of sentences. I promise this is not the case and it will be addressed as the story goes on.
> 
> I might answer questions, so long as I won't spoil the story for you. Feel free to ask any questions, though.


	4. Notice

So, I don't know how many of you are still here, but I wanna say something about this story.

So, I had some internal issues and thought I was going to give up on writing in general because I like Drawing more, but I really don't want to give up writing either. I thought about coming back to this story a few times, but then Season three blew up everything i had planned for this story, and I know most people would just say 'forget about canon, and just write what you want' . . . but my brain doesn't work like that. I've tried doing that, but for some reason that I actually can't pin point, I really can't FOCUS or not have a panic attack when I try to write a story for a show that isn't finished.

Anyway, I am thinking about coming back to this story, but it's more likely I'm just going to start a new Klance story from scratch, for my sanity.  
But if I do come back to this story in the end, I'm probably going to change chapter two and re-upload it, but the way I had written it was ALSO a factor as to why I couldn't bring myself to come back to this story.

I'm really a sucker for mermaids . . . and I did have a chapter started for a Mer!Klance story so . . .

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that the flow of chapter one is poor, and the rest of the story is not going to progress like it does in chapter one. I just wanted to set you up for when the story actually starts, which will be chapter two.


End file.
